This is War: 4: The Prophet and the Messiah
by Traxits
Summary: A pair of one-shots featuring Leliana's vision and the Warden that fills it. Part 4 of 6 in the "This is War" series.


**Title**: The Prophet and the Messiah  
**Author**: Traxits (also known as whitecarnations)  
**Rating**: T.  
**Word Count**: 595 words.  
**PC**: Generic PC.  
**Pairing**: None.  
**Spoilers**: Leliana's vision description.  
**Summary**: This is actually in response to a challenge posted on Lunaescence. "Write either one shots or drabbles with the following themes (as taken from the song 'This is War,' by 30 Seconds to Mars): the good, the evil; the soldier, the civilian; the martyr, the victim; the prophet, the messiah; the liar, the honest; the leader, the pariah." In this work, I've paired each of them up, designed to kind of play off of one another.  
**Notes**: This is the fourth pair of six.

**[[ ... The Prophet ... Leliana ... ]]**

_I don't know how to explain, but I had a dream...  
__In it, there was an impenetrable darkness... It was so dense, so real._

The prayer was whispered, hurried as she knelt in the dirt, her robes gathered around her knees, her hands clasped in front of her. The wind blew around her, sent her red hair, her Fereldan heritage fluttering over her face, made it sting against her eyelids. Her lips moved in quiet words of thanks, of blessing, and when she was done, she stood slowly. The weight of the dagger was heavy on her hip, unfamiliar after so long of not needing it.

_And there was a noise, a terrible, ungodly noise...  
__I stood on a peak and watched as the darkness consumed everything..._

She glanced over her shoulder at the Chantry, at the building she had called home for so long. She was all at once glad to be leaving and terrified of the world around her. She would miss Lothering, miss all of the time she had spent here, tending the sick and contemplating on her relationship with the Maker.

_And when the storm swallowed the last of the sun's light, I...  
__I fell, and the darkness drew me in..._

But she had a duty. She couldn't stand by while such darkness, such ugliness covered the face of Thedas. The thought of how many lives would be lost to the Blight was frightening, far more so than any fear for her own safety. She checked the small belt holding her dagger again, ensuring that she still had it, that it was handy if she would need it. It had been so long-

_It was as though the Maker stretched out His hand to say: "Even in the midst of this darkness, there is hope and beauty. Have faith."_

She headed to the tavern first, deciding that it would be the best place to start. The drink was flowing even more freely than normal, and when the door swung open, she felt her heart stop. The _Wardens_ had arrived, and it was the same face she had seen in her vision, in her dreams. Those eyes, those features... she knew them.

_In my dream, I fell, or... or maybe I jumped...  
__I'd do anything to stop the Blight._

After the fight, she stood, covered in blood, awaiting the judgement. It was coming, and there was very little that she could do to ensure that they understood her, that they knew what she was really trying to say. The dagger was still heavy in her hands, and as her eyes flicked from face to face, she saw it all: the hope, the disbelief, the sheer disgust. Her breath caught, and then she lifted her head again. She would not deny herself. She had seen it.

_I know that we can do it._

**[[ ... The Messiah ... Generic PC ... ]]**

It didn't matter who I had been, where I had come from. The moment that I had looked up at Duncan, the instant that I had clasped my hand around his forearm, accepted his help, I sealed away my past. I lost it all.

I could have been anyone. An elf from the Alienage, a Dalish. A Duster or a noble from Orzammar. I could have been a noble from a good Fereldan family. I could have been a mage for all it mattered. It was all gone now, locked away now behind a wall of blood. There was only one place to go, one way to look.

It didn't matter what I had done, who I might have killed or might have betrayed. It didn't even matter if I was just and noble or a dirty cheat. The Wardens didn't care. All that counted now was whether I could hold my own in a fight, whether I could fend of hordes of darkspawn. As angry as I've been? I suppose the answer would have to be yes.

It's time to paste a smile, to square my shoulders. The show had to go on. Ferelden was... is counting on it, counting on _me_. The crowd is screaming; they've been whipped into a frenzy by the death of their king, by the betrayal of the Grey. Now, it is my choice that will shape the future.


End file.
